Once In A Blue Moon
by Compass Indigo
Summary: Changes are coming. Team Galactic is failing. Memories to be passed down through eternity, with hopes of a new home, new grave. Perhaps all will go well, perhaps not. But for now, come; the music of the spheres calls us.
1. Prologue

Prologue

In the weightless abyss of space, the Deoxys drifted, listening with fin-like ears to the grand music of the spheres. The voice of the verdant planet below him was gentle and soothing, lulling him into an almost dream-like state of half awareness. Along with the fainter singing of the other celestial bodies in the solar system, it created a sedate calm within his mind, relieving the stress and burdens of the past month. The indigo and crimson DNA Pokémon closed his bright eyes and curled into a tight ball, luxuriating in the choir of astral voices.

He was a privileged individual amongst his species, having been granted the role of ambassador between the Deoxys and the more powerful of the creatures inhabiting the planet that revolved serenely below. Many of his kind would never be able to set foot upon the blue world, he knew, and they envied him, for to land upon a life-bearing world was a rare honor. Yet despite this great privilege, he preferred the tranquil songs of the void to the chaotic beauty of the living earth.

Below, there were too many voices, overwhelming the stately melody of the divine choir with their incessant chatter. Even then, he could hear their jarring thoughts, shouting and cursing and whispering sweet lies of poisonous praise. They disgusted him, their thoughts.

Humans were a narrow-minded race, focused only upon themselves and their little lives, ignorant of the grandeur of the infinite universe that surrounded them. Ignorant of the blessed music of the spheres….

No, that's an unjust thing to think about such a young species, he chided himself. It was true that the humans were narrow-minded, but only because they had yet to even discover the glory found in the cosmos, as his race had done so long ago. They could not spurn what they had not been granted the opportunity to hear...

...and yet, even accounting for their ignorance, it disturbed him that they took so much of their existence for granted. They accepted the earth beneath their feet as a constant, as something that would last for all eternity. Poor fools, why couldn't they realize the precious gift they possessed? Their world was green and rich in life and beauty, magnificent in its scope. They had animals, Pokémon, to cherish as companions. The humans had air to breath and water to drink, fertile soil beneath their feet in which to plant crops to eat, and an open horizon ripe with opportunities. They had not lost their Paradise. They had not burnt it to choking ashes and dust in the storms of nuclear fire, as his race had… at least, not yet.

In a way, mankind was not so dissimilar from how his own people had started; the two races were kin in their humble beginnings. How different from humanity had his own ancestors been when they first lifted their gaze to the welcoming, star-speckled cosmos? How different from the young race below had his forebears been when they had raised their collective voice, the first Nexus, in exultation at the sheer beauty of sentience? How different, how similar?

But such memories were from an age long dusted over by the sands of time, and barely kept alive by the collective consciousness of the Deoxys race, the Nexus. The precious memories originated from prior even to the Cataclysm, the world-shattering war that had forced the Deoxys to become celestial nomads, ever-searching for a new world to call home. A world like Earth.

Mankind was greatly blessed by Arceus to have been given such a treasure… That humanity had found such favor with Arceus as to be gifted with such a verdant dominion was impressive, and instilled him with a faint feeling of jealousy at the luxury the humans enjoyed, while the Deoxys were forced to live on the lifeless husks of Mars and Mercury.

No matter. There was little that he could do to change the current situation of his people, what with his low standing in the Elder Council, but he would still do his best to convince the Legends to allow the Deoxys to establish a settlement on Earth. Regardless, it would take many years for the Legends to trust him, what with his species' turbulent past regarding the blue planet…

It was at that moment that he heard an incessant, unintelligible shriek rising from far below, growing steadily louder with each passing second. As there was no sound in the abyss of space, but for the music of the spheres, it was obvious that the noise was of psychic origin; but where was the source?

Uncurling slightly, the ambassador narrowed his red eyes at the shadowed side of the planet resting below, seeking out the cause of the unholy scream that interrupted his solitude. After a brief moment of searching, he saw it, a spectrum blur of pink and blue rocketing from the world's southern pole, gradually gaining speed as the gravity holding it back lessened its implacable hold. Abruptly, the pale cobalt orb changed direction, and shot straight for him, leaving an afterimage streak as it drew closer, the shriek becoming even louder.

Wary, he uncurled fully from his fetal position, stretching out spread-eagle; prepared to face the radiant ball in battle, if necessary. After all, very few creatures that dared approach a Deoxys had noble intentions, in his experience; such was the reputation of his race. As the blur of blue light came nearer, the ambassador calmly reached into himself, drawing out a coruscating sphere of white light energy from the massive reserves contained in his Soul Gem; the beginnings of a Solar Beam.

Focusing on the rapidly approaching orb, he narrowed his eyes against the dazzling blue light; he could almost swear that there was some being within the sphere, a blurred shadow of his adversary. He drew out more energy, carefully feeding it into the glowing ball of solar energy that hovered before his chest. This challenger would easily be defeated in the face of such a strong beam.

It was then that the ambassador cocked his head slightly; the unending psychic screech was beginning to sound…almost familiar…like…

_"!"_

With an undignified curse, the Deoxys recognized the indistinct shadow concealed within the cerulean orb: it was that damned eccentric feline, Mew. Judging from her speed, she'd hit him in less than a moment, with no way for her to slow down and lessen the impact. Needless to say, the collision would be extremely painful for the both of them, but any injury to Mew at his hands would shatter his already fragile relationship with the other Legends. To make matters worse, the pulsing ball of light energy suspended before his chest was far too large to be safely returned to his Soul Gem without the risk of a fracture from the influx of power, and the only direction he could aim the Solar Beam by that point was at the tiny pink kitten.

So the ambassador did the only thing he could do.

Muttering a small prayer, he released the Solar Beam full blast against the speeding Mew's Barrier, the immense beam thundering silently against the feline's shield, arcs of deflected light lancing off toward deep space.

If the void was on his side, then the beam's concussive force would lessen Mew's speed considerably, perhaps just enough to avert any shattered bones. If not, then the injuries he'd sustain would be the least of his worries.

As luck would have it, the Solar Beam did manage to cut much of the pink kitten's speed, though it did shatter her protective bubble.

Regardless, it still wasn't quite enough to prevent the jarring impact that followed.

The Deoxys felt something hard slam against his Gem, pain arcing through him as the invaluable crystal was jolted in its socket, before he was sent careening away from the pink form of Mew. The stars melted into a hurricane of streaks of light, the planet gone from view. Concentrating hard upon his link to the Nexus, his chaotic flight gradually began to slow, the spinning stars coming to a halt.

Shaking his head to clear away the dull, aching fog, he entwined his right pair of tendrils into a single arm, and formed a hand. He closed his eyes, not daring to look down at his chest. Slowly, the anxious ambassador probed his gem for any sign of a fracture; thankfully, there were none, though the area surrounding his gem was sore and bruised.

Heaving a mental sigh of relief, the Deoxys felt around for other injuries, and gave a mental hiss of pain as his hand brushed against his chest. A fractured rib, most likely.

Turning his gaze toward the planet, he swiftly spotted the diminutive Legend that had dealt him so much damage.

His eyes widened at the sight of the small, limp figure. Pain forgotten, the ambassador surged forward, frantically calling upon the Nexus for more speed. If Mew had come to any serious harm, his life, along with the hopes of his entire race for a new home, would be forfeit.

The Deoxys came to a halt before Mew's limp form, and quickly looked her over for injuries. Aside from a nasty bruise forming on her forehead, she was unhurt. Drifting closer, he examined the bruise for a little while longer before deciding it would not prove to be a risk to the pink kitten's already suspect mental health.

Suddenly, Mew's large, shockingly blue eyes snapped open, only to find the intimidating visage of the Deoxys scant inches from her face. With a startled squeak, she jerked away, thrashing her limbs and long tail in a futile attempt to distance herself from the disturbingly close ambassador. With nothing for her mind to telekinetically influence so as to "fly", she was utterly helpless.

The Deoxys chuckled, relief burning through his system. It was always amusing to watch a psychic try to navigate the void. They who relied so much upon their telekinetic abilities to move were helpless without matter to latch onto, to orient themselves with and to fly. Mew, like so many others, had yet to learn the graceful art of the void's dance…

Disoriented, Mew thrashed about for a moment until the ambassador reached out an arm-tendril and gently seized the tip of her tail, steadying her. Though stilled, she also happened to be "upside-down" relative to his view. Not that he deemed it necessary to change that; orientation mattered little to his kind, being seen as little more than a pleasantry.

Unperturbed by the DNA Pokémon's touch, she crossed her arms and glared at him playfully. _"Hello to you, too, Ambassador Canthus. Nice to see you still have a sense of humor."_

The ambassador nodded his head slightly. _"Indeed. What, may I ask, possessed you to pull that little stunt? You jolted my Soul Gem with that rock-filled head of yours,"_ he replied softly. While the Deoxys was not close to the eccentric kitten, he was particularly fond of her; it was hard not to be, what with her constant efforts to be friendly and accommodating. Even so, he grew weary of her mischief at times.

_"Hey, it's not my fault! Saria and some of the other Shaymin were looking for you and they asked me to see if you were up here. Sure, I should have slowed down a bit…."_ She trailed off as she noticed the look of irritation Canthus was giving her.

_"Only a bit?"_ Canthus asked sarcastically, annoyed at Mew's exaggeration.

_"Okay, so I could've slowed down a lot more than I did before leaving the atmosphere, but I got into a race with this Latios to see who could go the fastest and since I didn't want to lose I had to go much faster than usual. Besides, it was fun,"_ Mew declared. She rubbed the growing lump on her head, and flinched slightly, before continuing. _"As for your shiny rock-gem-thingy, I think you got what you deserved, shooting at me like that!"_ She stuck her tongue out at him, and then winced as another throb of pain shot through her skull.

The Deoxys narrowed his eyes. _"As I recall, you were the one who chose to irrespon-"_ He ceased his retort abruptly, slowly turning away from the bothersome psychic and toward the planet's brightening outline, toward the new voice that had joined the music of the spheres…

The dawn had arrived.

Sol's blinding smile quietly peeked around Earth's curve, her soft rays spreading like hands across the planet's face, caressing the continents and the seas. The pure clouds below seemed to glow at the slightest touch of sunlight, and the planet's atmosphere blazed in a brilliant cloud of dulled light. Light from the bright cities below dimmed and faded as they were engulfed by the cascade of solar rays. A massive influx of mental voices rose with the light, adding to the quiet cacophony of thoughts below.

The blaze of harsh, yet so beautiful light... It reminded him of... of...

* * *

_A flash..._

_He was floating, still, in high orbit over the Earth...Yet, something was different... No... The planet below... so beautiful and vibrant... was not Earth._

_It was the Homeworld. He watched it turn for a moment, awed. A feeling swept through him. Adoration. He was home._

_He gracefully folded in his limbs, and dived toward the surface, eager to land and greet his people, to see sights not seen for nigh a thousand years... _

_Confusion swept through him, and he shook his head. Something felt wrong..._

_No... The Homeworld had never been destroyed. That was an insane thought. He'd have to speak to a gem doctor. The stress of work on the moon must be getting to him._

_As he plummeted toward the surface, he heard something in the back of his mind, a cry of anguish and longing and hatred all bound together by cold resolve._

_Something was wrong. Dreadfully, terribly wrong._

_He saw pinpricks of light shoot up from various places across the globe, each soaring higher and arcing toward a different location on the planet. Nuclear weapons._

_Armageddon had come for his species._

_NO!_

_He increased his speed, shrieking into the atmosphere at a velocity that would kill him if he did not have a Barrier to protect him. He prayed, he begged Arceus that his family be spared, that his small island home would go untouched. He hoped against all odds._

_It didn't matter._

_By the time he'd smashed through the cloud layer, he could see that his home was ruined, ash and fire and death drifting up to greet him in a grotesque embrace._

_They were gone._

_He closed his eyes, and his impact against the ground threw up a shockwave of ash and dust. His Barrier shattered like his heart, with a sound akin to breaking glass._

_His limbs were on fire, broken from his impact, charred by the hot air that had once soothed his lungs with the scent of the ocean. He stood, forcing his limbs to obey._

_He had to see her... one last time... Even if only her gem remained, it would be enough. He was close to their tiny home. He'd always said he would get a larger one for her, but she never wanted one._

_"Here is all I need. With you."_

_It was gone, the foundation stones being all that remained of it. He fell to his knees._

_Gone..._

_But... There! Nestled amongst the burnt and melted stone, sat a small fragment of a green gem. Her gem._

_The last trace of his mate in the living world._

_He reached for her, dragging his body forward; he couldn't feel... His legs began to catch fire from the heat, his body slowly burning away even as he came closer._

_It was a race._

_His mate had always loved races. It was how he'd first met her, at the grand race held once every ten years at Silentview City._

_Almost there... She was within reach... mere inches from his fingers..._

_He couldn't..._

_Blackness crept across his vision, narrowing all he could see to his outstretched hand, and a sliver of green. Fire licked around his eyes._

_Almost..._

* * *

Canthus gasped as the memory ended abruptly. It... It was a memory from a time long gone by, the time of the Cataclysm, when the Homeworld had been baptized in wave after wave of nuclear fire. When the very crust had shattered from the force of the explosions. When his people had first learned what it was to be without a home.

He bowed his head for a moment, whispering a small prayer to the void in his mind, and a thanks to the Nexus for deeming him worthy to know of such a precious memory. He would perform the rite of thanksgiving when he returned to his abode on Earth, but for the moment, he would think no more of it. Dark, sorrowful memories were to be contemplated where they belonged: in the dark.

_Light shining into dark places reveals many great things... just as it reveals many vile things in the same breadth of time._

The ambassador averted his eyes as Sol's full radiance came into view; he held no desire to be blinded. He glanced at his sunglasses-wearing companion, then back at the dawn. This glance was swiftly followed by a double take, and he looked back at her, only to be met by a second pair of the dark glasses being thrust toward his face, as the pink feline slurped milk from a small carton with a straw. Stunned into silence, he quietly accepted the offered glasses, wondering where she'd gotten her paws on a pair of sunglasses out _here_, of all places, not to mention the milk….

_"Uh... Mew?"_

_"Don't ask, Canthus, just don't ask."_

Gradually, the sun's light became too bright for even their sunglasses (which happened to be of premium quality, "MADE IN HOENN", according to the label), and Canthus dragged Mew into the planet's shadow.

Before he could speak, Mew placed a gentle paw on his shoulder. _"I see why you spend so much time up here now. It's beautiful."_

The memory flashed through the ambassador's mind. _"Yes... Yes, it is."_

Mew smiled. _"Saria's probably wondering where we are right about now. She is supposed to keep tabs on what you're up to, after all."_

Canthus cocked his head. _"True. Why did she send you up here anyway, other than to keep track of me?"_

At this, Mew's smile vanished in an instant. She shut her bright blue eyes, and hugged the ambassador tightly. Blue and sadness burst from her in a supernova.

Canthus stiffened for a brief moment, then relaxed. Something was wrong with the pink feline, something making her terribly sad. He would give her comfort, if need be. Such was the duty of a friend.

He held her close for a moment, feeling her pain. Then, slowly, he lifted her face to his, and asked quietly, _"Mew. What has happened?"_

The sadness in her eyes was not her own; the sorrow radiating from her mind was held for another.

For him.

Silence reigned between the two beings, broken only by the music of the spheres and the whispering gusts of the solar winds.

_Something was wrong. Dreadfully, terribly wrong._

Finally, she whispered, _"Canthus, it's Team Galactic... They've done it."_

He closed his eyes.

_"So be it."_

* * *

And there you have it! I'm hoping to get a bit of feedback before I post the next bit, but reviews are totally voluntary, so no pressure. :)

I don't have any planned update schedule, and I write REALLY slowly... Luckily, the next portion is already written out! It just needs some editing, then I'll post it! :)

Oh and a really awesome and special thanks to Pikamew (Fear The Pika), Firefeather (FirebirdXoX), Stolloss (I need to give you a nickname! :D), and FireOkami-Kitsune! :) They were a great help in getting through the editing process, and all of them are amazing! Thank you!

*cue applause*

Breath deep, seek peace! -Dinotopian saying


	2. Irritations

Chapter One: Irritations

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

A deep brown eye opened, bloodshot from a lack of sleep, and immediately glared with intense irritation at the large, tropical leaf above, dripping with the dew collected in the cool morning air.

_Drip._

_Drip._

The red and brown eye narrowed, its owner's thoughts murderous, as a hand, clad in a leather glove of the deepest black, reached up, swatting at the source of its annoyance.

The leaf dripped harder as the dew upon it was disturbed.

_Drip. Drip._

_Drip. Drip._

The eye closed, exasperated, as the droplets of water continued to patter innocently against its owner's peaked cap.

_Drip. Drip._

_Drip. Drip._

Slowly, as if a swift movement would encourage the wide leaf, his gloved hand reached towards his belt, and finding what it sought, unclipped the pistol from its holster.

_Drip. Drip._

_Drip. Drip._

Once again the eye opened, focusing entirely upon the enemy that disturbed its master's rest. The hand rose, the weapon it held glinting against the first rays of sunlight filtered through the lush tropical canopy above.

The leaf continued to drip, ignorant of the doom that silently came nearer.

_Drip. Drip._

_Drip. Drip._

Leather creaked as the hand clenched against the pistol's grip, tightening its finger against the trigger.

_Drip. Drip._

_Drip…_

The thunderclap that followed tore loudly through the stillness of the valley, the sudden blast startling the native wildlife. Alarmed bird calls and the chatters of terrified rodents assaulted the ears of the exhausted shooter. The bloodshot eye drew slowly shut, resigned to the ungodly discord that disturbed it. But at least the damned low hanging branch above didn't have a leaf to disturb it any longer. The tired one grinned inwardly with satisfaction at that thought.

What the weary shooter had failed to notice was that the leaf above, while no longer covered with enough water to drip, was still attached to the branch by a sliver-thin fiber. A fiber that was gradually being torn apart by the weight of its burden…

The damp, heavy leaf fell, straight down, onto the insomniac's face.

_Splat!_

Giving voice to a muffled curse, the now furious being's hand ripped the leaf from its master's face, and threw it to the sandy ground. Sitting up slightly, the enraged man leveled his pistol at the limp leaf, finger tightening once again on the trigger...

But, there, the man stopped, frozen like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. What the hell had he been doing? Almost ruefully, he released his tight grip on the pistol, and slipped it back into its holster.

Before immediately whipping the weapon out and emptying the remaining bullets into the fallen leaf.

For the second time that morning, thunder disturbed the valley. What few animals that had quieted since the first shot lifted up their distressed and terrified voices once more in a wild cacophony of panic. Lowering himself back into his lying position, the tired man closed his eye, and tried in vain to edit out the noise.

Gradually, the uproar quieted, the only sounds that disturbed the exhausted individual becoming the occasional call of a waking bird, or the chirping of an insect. The man smiled contentedly, finally beginning to drift into the gentle embrace of blessed sleep.

In the forest, a twig snapped, accompanied closely by the crunch of heavy boots on dry, sandy earth. The footsteps drew closer, _louder_, and a rock clattered as it was kicked against a palm tree. A surprised yell, along with a stream of cursing, announced that the person approaching was a clumsy man, and one who seemed to believe that trees were capable of (and should be) performing various obscene and biologically impossible acts. Evidently, he had tripped over some poor exposed root.

Exasperated and furious, the man's brown eye opened, examining this latest disturbance.

The man was of a reasonable height, though his large girth gave the impression that he was shorter than he truly was. His belt, even at its loosest, strained against his round, barrel-shaped torso. His once-white uniform was dusted with sand and dirt, a result of his fall. His thinning hair was clumsily concealed beneath a lumpy red beret which looked disturbingly similar to a piece of road kill. A full, brown beard masked his multiple chins, quivering as he shouted all manner of abuse at the uncaring root.

The one attempting to rest sighed loudly, startling the man, who immediately ceased his insults of the offending root, and snapped into a rigid salute.

"Sir! I didn't see you there. The men and I were worried about a bunch of gunshots we heard earlier. Was there an enemy?" the fat man asked nervously, evidently ashamed that one of his superiors had heard his coarse language.

"Yes, Maxfield, there was an enemy, though it has been dealt with. And I assume that by 'the men and I', it was really just you."

"Uhhhh…" Maxfield stalled, his mind sluggishly working to invent some semblance of an intelligent denial, and failing utterly.

"I'll take that as a yes." The man on the ground said smugly.

Maxfield shuffled his feet, opening his mouth to voice a question, but was cut off before a word passed by his lips. "What is it, Maxfield?" the man interrupted, his tone that of an exasperated adult addressing a particularly annoying child.

"Sir, if there was an enemy, then where's the body?" Maxfield blurted out, and then instantly regretted it, as questioning one's superiors typically does not improve one's paycheck. That and the man before him had a particularly nasty reputation for being violent towards those who questioned his authority.

The feared rebuke did not come, though the alternative was puzzling. Without a word, the man lying before him pointed at the ragged, damp remains of a tropical leaf.

Maxfield frowned, his face scrunching up in concentration as he tried to figure out what the man was trying to say. Gradually, an understanding formed in his mind, a perfect explanation. After thinking on his theory for another few seconds, he decided that, yes, it was the only possible explanation.

Nearly a full minute of silence passed before he had completed his astounding theory, and was willing to share it aloud. "You turned him into a leaf!"

The tired man sat up from his lying position under the low hanging branch, rubbing his burning eye. "No, you imbecile! Do you actually think that I'd leave a body out in the open to be stumbled upon by some idiot hiker, or worse, you?"

An everyday hiker, if he stumbled upon a body, would go straight to the nearest police station. Maxfield, fool that he was, would not only go straight to the authorities, but he would also turn himself in and give a detailed description of every law he'd broken as well as the names of his co-conspirators.

Confusion swept over the rotund imbecile, followed by another revelation.

"I get it! You hid the body under the leaf," Maxfield beamed, proud of his powers of reasoning. If only fools could realize their own stupidity….

His moment of pride was interrupted when his commanding officer's face came out of the shadows of the leaves. Maxfield flinched, all his previous thoughts (or lack thereof) disappearing.

The man that rose to his feet before the grunt stood a full head taller than his underling. His bearing closely resembled that of a grand aristocrat, back straight, with head held high, as he felt that the entire world was his to gaze down upon. Especially Maxfield.

The uniform he wore complimented this posture well, its crisp white cloth, trimmed with black, lending him the air of a natural leader, born to lead his "fellow" human beings for the glory of the great empire that was himself.

At his belt was a matching pair of dirks, one at each side, their ivory handles ornately carved into the shape of a roaring beast. The specific creature meant to be portrayed was unidentifiable, however; they were well worn with use. Strapped just behind the dirk at his left side was a holster, the aged pistol it held well oiled and cared for; obviously it was of great importance, and use, to the officer.

The firearm caught Maxfield's eye especially, as it always did. The weapon was not of Orre manufacture; it was too refined, too well-made to be one of those cheap, easy-to-buy weapons produced in the war-torn region. No, it was an old weapon, forged before the United Regions' Council had chosen to outlaw the use of lethal weaponry, advocating the use of stun rounds, tranquilizers, and shock bullets. This one had apparently managed to escape being melted down, persisting where weaker weapons would have failed.

It was on more than one occasion that Maxfield had considered stealing the precious firearm, but a single glance at the twin blades at the commander's belt was always more than enough to discourage anything more than wishful daydreams.

The man's face was by far his most striking feature, however. Pale skin clashed with a full head of deep black hair, upon which was seated a majestic officer's cap, with a silver insignia, shaped into an elaborate "G", seated just above its small bill. A thin mustache graced his upper lip, a neatly kept forest upon his face. He was most certainly handsome, as though carved from stone into perfection by some great sculptor.

However, this exquisite visage was marred; the sculptor's work, whether by neglect or intention, had gone unfinished.

For on the left side of the man's face, there was a pallid expanse of skin where an eye should have rested.

Maxfield stared in horrified fascination at his commander's "missing" eye. Was it just his imagination, or was that really a second, underdeveloped eye glaring back at him from under the pale covering of skin? Feeling sick to his stomach, Maxfield looked away.

The one-eyed commander was almost amused by the grunt's reaction to his little defect. The expression of mixed revulsion and terror lent the overly fat man a look comparable to those of the gargoyles on the Foreign Temple in Hearthome City. The fact that Maxfield did this nearly every time he saw the commander's face only added to that.

"Well, do you or do you not?"

"D-do I wh-what, s-sir?" Maxfield stammered.

The amusement leaving him, commander sighed. What could possibly have possessed his "superiors" for them to deem it necessary to send this buffoon, along with the rest of his ilk, to assist his squad in their mission? He barely suppressed a bark of harsh laughter at that thought. As if Maxfield and the other grunts could possibly serve any other purpose than cannon fodder!

"Never mind, Maxfield."

"Alright."

The brown eye glared at him.

"I-I mean 'Alright, sir'!"

Nodding his head slightly in approval at the correction, the one-eyed man turned away, walking briskly in the direction from which his underling had approached, up the side of the sparsely forested valley. Maxfield hesitated for a brief moment before following, jogging to catch up. By the time he reached the commander's side, he was already wheezing and out of breath. Gasping for breath, he spoke. "When will we…begin the…attack, sir?"

Not sparing a glance at his out of shape "companion", the officer continued onwards, his black leather boots crushing the undergrowth beneath his unrelenting feet. "What is the condition of your men?"

Maxfield, having caught his breath somewhat, replied immediately, "They're impatient for this operation to get into full swing, sir. Most seem to be having trouble dealing with this tropical heat; too used to that chilly homeland of ours, see. And a few are still adjusting to Sevii Island Chain time zone, but they're just as ready for action as the others." The rotund man paused, leaning against a palm tree for a moment and wiping sweat from his brow before continuing. "The grunts assigned to Fire-types are slightly worried that their Pokémons' nervousness about fighting on a small island will reduce combat efficiency, though."

Maxfield did have one redeeming quality, at the very least; his ability to assess a situation was, incongruously enough, useful. Whether it was enough to compensate for everything else about him, well, that was an entirely different matter.

"Their concerns are unwarranted. The majority of this operation has no need of Fire-types anyway, seeing as we are going to be indoors." Pausing, the man reached into a small pouch on his belt, retrieving an unadorned, black eye patch, which he then positioned over the blank space where anyone else would have had a second eye. After adjusting it for a few moments, he continued. "Additionally, I do not believe that burning down the building we are attempting to infiltrate shows good judgment. Order them to act as the rear guard."

Having left the tree line and reached the top of one of the ridges that formed the valley, the commander stopped, surveying the vast expanse of ocean stretched out below. The other islands in the Sevii Archipelago stood dark against the indigo background. A cool breeze, smelling of salt and fish, brushed against him, carrying away the sweltering heat of the morning sun. Lowering his gaze, he followed the blinding white beach with his eye, curving in a long crescent around the bay. At the end of the beach sat their target, hidden amongst the tropical vegetation that ruled the island chain.

It appeared quite small on the outside, a pair of large boat garages extending into the water, with a two story building located slightly inland, just topping the surrounding tree canopy. The thick concrete walls were laced with vines and creepers, digging their thin roots into the cracks of the "old" walls. Broken windows gaped out at the pair, their jagged teeth shimmering in the sunlight.

Of course, if one were to tear away the dilapidated exterior, one would discover that the buildings were nothing but a façade, the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

The schematics supplied by their informant had revealed that just inside the boat garages was a pair of concealed doors. These heavy steel gateways then opened into an even larger boat garage, tunneled directly into the island. Below this was a convoluted labyrinth of white hallways and research labs, training facilities and barracks, connected to the surface by the false building and decrepit garage.

The labs.

What they contained was his entire purpose for being on this island, the reason for being summoned from his quarters at an ungodly hour in the night and rushed to this speck of filth on the great sea, with a group of imbeciles and a half-equipped squad.

Damn this island! And damn his so-called "superiors!"

He'd read the reports on the way; he _knew_ what they were after, the power that hovered at their fingertips… He recognized the importance of this mission, the precedence it held over **all** other activities.

Team Galactic was on its last legs.

It was no secret. The sledgehammer blows dealt by the joint efforts of Team Rocket and their Magma allies had cost the Sinnoh-based organization almost everything. The illegal diamond and coal mining operations just south of Oreburgh had been totally wiped out, the intricate tunnels and mineshafts destroyed by explosives planted by Rocket agents.

Their research center in the Great Marsh, that had given them the edge they had needed to defeat much of their competition in the past, was no more as well, demolished in a night raid by Magma ground teams.

Many of the siphoning stations that leeched electricity from the national power grid had been put out of commission, causing power failures in many of their labs, and forcing the creation of an electricity ration.

Poaching operations throughout Galactic-held territory were shut down by Magma and Rocket bounty hunters, eager to make a profit from turning in poachers, and establish their own hunting grounds.

Supply depots, weapon caches- raided and emptied by looting Rockets and Magmas.

The Geothermal Power Plant in Stark Mountain had also been wiped off the map, thanks to a forced eruption of the volcano at the hands of Team Magma.

Not all was lost, however.

The main base in Veilstone City, one of their four remaining strongholds in the Sinnoh region, stood proud against the onslaught, a beacon of hope for those that remained.

The hidden research facility in Eterna still churned out new, cutting-edge technologies and medicines to be sold by their more legitimate cover business, Starlight Industries.

The archaeological dig sites lurking deep within the Solaceon Ruins had already located multiple artifacts that possessed strange properties, a wealth of Elemental stones, and ancient inscriptions that hinted at the locations of other ruins.

And finally, the Underground, the intricate cave system of tunnels and way stations, storage rooms and weapons stockpiles, that provided the remnants of Team Galactic with mobility, training facilities, smuggling opportunities, and most importantly, secrecy.

In addition to the resources in Sinnoh, their holdings in the Orange and Sevii Islands were still intact, the vast smuggling network relatively unhindered by interference caused by Team Galactic's multitude of enemies. But even now, the Rocket gang was encroaching on that stronghold, as evidenced by the base before him.

Plus, the mining being conducted by Starlight Industries on Iron Island was still producing copious amounts of ore for the refineries at Fuego Ironworks, providing Team Galactic with the additional funding required to barely stave off disbandment.

Even with their core bases and operations intact, though, Team Galactic was still close to a complete breakdown.

But the outcome of this mission could very well give the remnants of Team Galactic a second chance, and cast those pathetic rival Teams out of the Sinnoh region for good!

However, as much as he respected his leader, Cyrus Galaxiat, he did _not_ understand the reasoning behind sending along Maxfield and his bunch of stooges, or why his squad had only been given _half_ the normal kit for a mission of this caliber. Maxfield was highly incompetent at performing even the most basic of tasks, and the Pokémon that were assigned to the grunts weren't powerful enough to prove useful at anything other than attempting to drown their enemies under the weight of numbers.

As though fate had decided to reinforce his musings about the leader of the grunts, a strong gust of the salty air blew Maxfield's crimson beret off his balding head, carrying it to the edge of the promontory from which they viewed the bay. The fool immediately dove after it, barely snatching it out of the air as it was caught by another breeze. Having saved his precious hat, Maxfield then proceeded to endanger himself, teetering precariously on the edge for a long moment before slowly backing his unsteady lump of a body away and onto safer ground. Walking backwards, he was unable to see what lay beneath his feet, and tripped against a protruding stone, landing with a hefty thump on his rear.

Predictably, this was followed immediately by a storm of profanity so harsh, even the coarsest of sailors would have withered under such a verbal assault.

The commander's eye narrowed. It was almost as if he was _meant_ to fail this mission. Immediately, he banished the thought to the depths of his mind. It would only serve to distract him during the ordeal to come. Useless speculation was neither an asset in battle, nor in peace. Speculation bred dissent, and such thoughts would only serve to weaken his resolve.

Then, he almost, _almost_, smiled. _Let_ the Fates rig this mission against him, _let_ them do their very best to make it impossible to complete. Just _let_ Giovanni work himself into a frenzy designing situations that no man could come out of alive. _Let_ them feel the exhaustion that he felt.

He'd beat whatever odds that were stacked against him, for he was greater than any and _all_ others. He was the best.

His thoughts of glory and triumph were interrupted, however, by a low, sharp voice, the speaker directly behind him. "Commander Nebula? The rest of the squad and I are wondering when the operation is gonna start."

Nebula did not bother to turn around. He recognized the voice instantly; having long since memorized the voices of his squad. But this voice was different in his eyes, special even amongst his elite team.

The voice belonged to his best scout, Enos Grimsby, and quite likely the only truly _great_ man present on the island other than himself.

Waving a gloved hand dismissively, Commander Nebula spoke. "Maxfield, you have your orders. Leave us."

"Yes, sir!" the rotund grunt agreed hurriedly, all too happy to oblige; members of Nebula's infamous squad were well-known for their ruthlessness and general contempt of grunts. Nervously eyeing the scout, he waddled away in what he believed was the general direction of camp, bearing his superior's instructions to the men.

Commander Nebula and Enos listened to Maxfield's retreating and overly heavy footsteps, both briefly wondering how long it would take for the man to realize that he was going in exactly the opposite direction of the encampment.

A lull in the breeze was accompanied by silence between the two men.

When he was sure that the grunt was out of hearing range, Enos grinned, and then burst into gales of uncontrollable laughter. "Did you see his face? That was the best one yet! How high do you think he jumped? Four feet, was it?"

Nebula allowed himself a thin smile; a miniscule amount of childish amusement at his friend's laughter. Quite an indulgent action, truth be told.

The young man standing before the Commander was just as tall as he was, if not slightly taller. Though with the boy slouched like that, it was difficult to judge. His uniform was in a far messier condition than even Maxfield's, stained as it was with all manner of dirt and grass, and interwoven with pieces of camouflage netting. In fact, it was barely recognizable as a uniform; it seemed more akin to a bush that had uprooted itself and gone for a stroll.

The scout's face was little better, his tan skin just visible under the many layers of gray face paint and accumulated grime. Bright, wide eyes gazed back at Nebula, accompanied by a broad grin that spanned his entire face from ear to ear. His characteristic stubble gave him the look of an older man, though in truth his nature was contrary to his appearance.

Enos was the wild card of Nebula's group, the unpredictable hurricane that disrupted the squad's harmony as much as he preserved it. Of course, his capricious tactics and ploys were unsurprising, if one considered his origins. After all, Orre natives were well known for their… _unique_ personalities.

Although several years Nebula's junior, the scout was quite nearly his equal, in both intelligence and skill. In fact, the one thing that was holding Enos back was his almost childish attitude and lack of ruthless devotion. Yes, he always completed the tasks he was assigned; yes, he never disobeyed orders. But he never caused harm when he did not have to, even if doing so would simplify a mission or eliminate a problem.

His loyalty to Nebula was an obstacle to his advancement as well; he had turned down several promotions simply to stay with the squad. Touching as the gesture was for the Commander, it continued to instill Nebula with a sense of... what? Disappointment? Pride? Both?

Enos' laughter had quieted to light chuckles, and he gave a low whistle when he saw the Team Rocket base. "Ooh, do you think they'll let us stay the night? I could kill for a shower right about now!" the young man joked.

Nebula's response was a slight roll of his eye, followed by a terse, "You might just have to."

Enos gaped, his hands raised in mock horror. "Legends forbid! Sir, was that a joke?"

Another roll of his eye. "No."

The scout released a gusty sigh of exaggerated relief. "Good, you had me worried there for a moment. I thought that maybe the real Commander had been kidnapped by Clefairy from outer space and replaced by a robotic copy or something! You know, like in that one movie?"

Nebula raised an eyebrow, glancing quizzically at his young companion. "Kidnapped by Clefairy? Replaced by a robot? Enos, my friend, you seem to be losing your touch. Last year you would've said that a Ditto had stolen my DNA, Transformed, then shot me and hid the body."

Enos shrugged. "Yeah, well, that one was getting old, so I needed a new theory. Why, do you want me to pick a different one? I came up with one that involves a crazy Charmander, a ninja, and some high explosives a little while back."

Several long moments of total silence passed, then, "…A ninja."

"Yeah. Everything's better with ninjas!" The scout grinned, then struck a pose that might have passed for some form of karate, were it not for his horrible posture.

Nebula pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. "Grimsby, would you care to remind me why I took you under my wing all those years ago, and why I've bothered to tolerate your lunacy ever since?"

The immature scout took a minute of thought, filled with exaggerated humming and hawing. On any other day, Enos' behavior would've been infuriating. Fortunately, the Commander's lack of sleep prevented him from wasting the energy required to gain the scout's two second attention span, and hold it long enough to rebuke him.

"To tell you the truth, I don't know myself. So do you wanna hear it?" was the scout's belated, enthusiastic reply.

Another sigh. "Perhaps later." Before the eccentric teenager could start spouting more nonsense, he changed the subject. "You had a question, didn't you? Concerning when the assault is set to begin?" More than likely, Enos had several other questions; what with the secrecy involved in their deployment, it was to be expected.

"Yes. But the time for the attack isn't the only question that I have." When Enos spoke, his tone was hushed, lacking the playful quality it had possessed mere moments before.

Turning his back on the cliff edge, Nebula answered his scout. His serious tone offered no chance for the scout to continue his antics. "I know, Grimsby, I know. But to answer your first question, I believe that the best time for us to make our move is dawn tomorrow. We'll catch them off-guard and groggy that way. Inform the rest of the squad, if you would, and have them advance to the edge of forest, just out of sight from the facility."

Pausing for a moment, the Galactic commander gathered his thoughts, stroking the familiar hilt of one of his dirks absentmindedly.

"In addition, rig a set of traps-Voltorb mines and pitfalls, preferably-twenty feet or so from the main surface entrance. It's on the larger building, right down there." He gestured at the inland structure. "That should slow any pursuit when we leave. And order the grunts with Fire-types to dig in just beyond the traps; they'll be useful for setting up a barrier of flame to deter a hunting party afterwards. Combined with the firepower our Forretress sniper teams will provide, I'm certain that we'll be able to hold out until the helicopters come to lift us off this blasted island. Understood?"

Enos nodded, and a lock of unkempt hair fell, obscuring his eyes. He brushed it away with a swift flick of his bony wrist.

"Good. Now, what's your second question?" The commander had already guessed what it would be, but he chose to reaffirm his assumption, to be sure that he wasn't losing his touch at reading the moods of his men.

Quietly, the elite scout voiced the question that was being asked by the rest of the squad, indeed, by the entire infiltration group. "Sir, what exactly are we here for?"

It was just as he had predicted. No surprise there.

Turning away from Enos, Nebula continued his examination of the facility. "Grimsby, this mission requires utmost discipline, as well as secrecy. If I were to allow you that information, along with the rest of the squad, would you still be capable of fighting at your best?"

Of course he would answer his scout whatever his response would be; he alone held the definite right to know, after all they had been through together. Especially since the mission was so similar to that one time so long ago…

Enos hesitated for a moment before answering, choosing his words cautiously. "Sir, I feel that knowing what we're here to do will get rid of the doubts that many of us are having about this mission. And I for one, would rather be warned beforehand of any dangers that we're gonna face than by walking into them myself."

The Commander nodded in approval of his scout's answer. "Enos, we are here to retrieve the seeds of a god."

"Sir?"

Nebula slipped one of his dirks out of its sheath, and tested its glinting edge with his gloved fingertip. "Tell me, friend, do you recall the New Island mission?"

* * *

Okay, this whole glitch thing has been very annoying, especially since I've had this ready for quite a while. :P In any case, I hope it gets sorted out soon. :)

A good friend of mine, Stolloss, gave me a link thingy to let me post. Thanks Stolloss! *glomps*

Another round of applause to FirebirdXoX, Fear The Pika, and Stolloss for helping me get this thing edited~ :D Thank you!

...and of course the next chapter will take forever because, not only do I write slow, I write incredibly slow! :P Don't worry though. I'll have it up eventually. In the meantime, it'd be nice to get a few reviews. :) Thanks to Macy Webber, Fear The Pika, and Shocking Revelation for reviewing. I appreciate it!

Breath deep, seek peace. -Dinotopian saying


	3. Coffee, Donuts, and Genetic Experiments

Fire and Ice

By Robert Frost

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

Chapter Two: Coffee, Donuts, and Genetic Experiments

Biting wind howled above a raging sea. White-crested waves roiled and crashed together in a hypnotic dance, a fine blanket to wear over a watery grave. Thunder roared a stentorian duet with the ocean below, flashes of lightning arcing into the chaos of water and wind. So great was the storm that it was as though the Beast of the Sea itself had stirred from the depths to release the hellish tempest.

A black helicopter, its blades shrieking in protest at the force required to stay aloft, hovered over a small island. In the rainy gloom, the machine was little more than a silhouette, even in the flashes of lightning. It was designed for stealth, to be undetectable even in broad daylight. Now, in the furious downpour, it was nigh invisible. Three men were aboard; one was fearful, the other unconcerned, and the last was wishing desperately for a mug of hot chocolate and a warm fire.

Below, the island crouched, a beast waiting to swat the helicopter out of the air at the first opportunity. A large building, its walls streaming with water, dominated the majority of the island, its many windows filled with light. Antenna and radar arrays bristled from the roof, the main reason that they had been forced to approach under the cover of the gale.

The pilot glanced anxiously at the thunderheads above for the sixth time in as many minutes, wishing that his helicopter was built to withstand a bolt of lightning, and cursing the fact that it wasn't. Twisting around in his seat, he tapped one of the other men on the shoulder to get his attention. The pilot was forced to shout over the storm, their headsets useless over the cacophony of thunder and ocean. "I'll drop you off, but then I have to return to the ship and refuel! You'll be on your own until then! I'm giving you six hours, tops, before I come back!"

Their helicopter strained against the storm, struggling to keep them from being crushed against the island below like an insect against a car's windshield. Latching onto his rappelling line, a younger Enos Grimsby wiped rain from his eyes, clearing them for a brief moment. Glancing over at his partner, the young agent gave him a nod to indicate that he was ready to go.

The other man, another familiar figure who had just latched onto his own line, returned the nod.

Slamming his gloved fist against the cockpit's bulkhead to get the pilot's attention, Enos waved, shouting, "Lower the lines! And try to keep her steady!"

The pilot gave a thumbs-up, hitting the glowing red button that lowered the heavy cables.

Closing his eyes, the young agent leapt into open space with a loud whoop that was audible even over the noise of the storm. Rolling his eye, Agent Nebula followed in disciplined silence.

**Enos paled, unwanted memories rearing up in his mind, tormenting him. "That…**_**thing**_** is in there?" He remembered that day, the terror that had locked him in an iron grip, the panicked minutes, no, eternities, of fleeing through unending white hallways.**

**But, most clearly of all, he remembered **_**it.**_

The trip to solid ground was short and painfully abrupt. The cable was slick with rain, and Enos was unable to get a tight grip, the line slipping through his grasp.

"YAAAAAAAAHHH-Oof!" He grunted as pain shot up his legs from the impact.

Nebula, unlike his more enthusiastic associate, touched down lightly, crouching to absorb his impact against the muddy earth. Keeping low, so as to avoid any watching eyes, he ran over to Enos, hoping that he wasn't injured. Even the slightest injury could jeopardize the mission. Understandably, he was quite relieved to see a mud-stained Enos staggering to his feet.

"I'm alright, I'm alright. Perfectly golden," Enos wheezed, waving Nebula away. The muck that had coated his black stealth suit was already being washed away by the downpour.

A flare of lightning lit up the facility before them, illuminating the many vents and pipes that covered its surface. It would be a simple matter to climb up the walls and enter through a rooftop vent, but it would be time consuming. Time they could not waste.

Agent Nebula frowned. Scaling the side of the building could take several hours, but he was assuming that the only vents were on the roof, as was common for many of Team Rocket's facilities. He decided to look over the walls when they were lit by the next round of lightning.

Another flash, another glimpse. The second illumination gave Nebula the instant he needed to notice an entry; a grate nearly ripped from its socket by the force of the winds.

Pointing it out to his partner, he motioned for Enos to follow as he cautiously moved towards their ticket into the New Island Research Facility…..

**Commander Nebula slowly shook his head. "No, the beast itself is not here, but I have been informed that a large number of samples are. They are what we have been sent to retrieve."**

**The scout breathed a sigh of relief, his body gradually losing the fearful tension of past dangers unwillingly remembered.**

Enos and Nebula had been wandering through the building for several hours, and had yet to find even the slightest piece of information worth stealing. Who would've thought that Team Rocket didn't even use half of the facility?

Sneaking around was no problem for the two agents. The various guards that patrolled the halls were lazy and careless, and it was mere child's play to avoid detection. Though there had been a close call when Enos had decided to raid the guards' lounge, making off with a cappuccino and a couple of donuts. Of course, the only real obstacle was the vast array of security cameras. As luck would have it, however, they were positioned with plenty of blind spots, so even the cameras posed little threat to the two spies.

There was also the threat of the installation's security force: a crack team of Rockets that had been quartered in the facility's lower floors, according to the information provided during the two Galactics' mission briefing. They were known to be well-trained and ruthlessly obedient, providing a much more significant danger to the agents. Fortunately, none of the guards keeping watch over the corridors seemed to be members of the elite force.

At the moment, they were searching through a veritable library of files and recorded data from the various calculations and experiments performed by the Team Rocket scientists, in a small room labeled simply, "Records". Though as tantalizing as the room's name had been at first, Enos and Nebula were finally beginning to understand the meaning of the words "superfluous information."

Agent Nebula was skimming the many files brusquely, stopping every so often when he found a folder that seemed promising, only to thrust it back into place with disgust when closer inspection revealed it to be yet more useless and trivial data.

Enos himself had gone through several filing cabinets of information already, and was starting to get bored. Fingertips brushing the nametag of each folder he looked over, he muttered what they read under his breath, pausing occasionally to take a sip from his mug of pilfered coffee. "Magnemite Evolution Patterns…Nope. Mating Habits (V. 2-Intercourse)…Hell, no. Mmm-hmm, this is some damn good coffee! Let's see…Metal Ore Sample #1134206 Studies…Yeah - no. Mew Samples, Mew DNA Resequencing, M2 Cloning Labs…Bingo!" Lifting the intriguing packet of files from the drawer, he untied the string keeping it shut, and pulled out the first of the files. He took in a sharp breath as he read the first few lines, and slowly put his mug down on top of the filing cabinet.

Team Rocket had gotten their grubby hands on a near-complete DNA sample of Mew.

Those lucky bastards.

"Nebula, you'd better come take a look at this. I think I just found something worth our time." Enos kept his voice barely above a whisper, and waved wildly at his partner to emphasize the significance of his discovery.

Stepping lightly so as not to make any noise, and almost eager to get a look at something somewhat more interesting than the scratch test results for onix hide, Nebula hurried over, and his eye widened in shock at the valuable information that lay before him.

**Enos gave the disguised Rocket base a cursory glance, and then stared at the other Sevii Islands, as though the monster from the past was hiding on one of them, waiting. "So if that…that thing isn't in there, then where is it? I thought that it was hiding out in this area."**

**"It is, according to the radio transmissions we've intercepted from this base. They just haven't been able to get a solid fix on its location. Yet."**

"Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, shouldn't we be leaving right about now? The chopper is gonna be here soon, and I don't wanna get left behind again like last time."

Agent Nebula's well of patience was beginning to run dry. There was only so much complaining and idiocy he could bear from the young Grimsby, and he had quite a talent for enduring stupidity. After all, he had to deal with his "superiors", Commanders Saturn, Mars, and Jupiter, who were, in his opinion, the three greatest imbeciles he had ever met.

Although the packet of files Agent Grimsby had come across was overflowing with valuable and important data, it had only in passing made reference to the "M2 Cloning Lab." This particular tidbit had caught Nebula's attention, and he had wasted nearly thirty more minutes scouring the remaining filing cabinets for any scraps pertaining to it that might have been missed in their previous search. Other than a map detailing the lab's location, there was little else that could be found. He was irked by the lack of supplementary information, but there was another way to satisfy his curiosity, one that did not involve trudging through the facility's almost limitless supply of paper.

So it was that he found himself sneaking through the white corridors, accompanied by his increasingly irritating associate. Periodically, he stopped to study the map, and then moved on at a quickening pace. The urgency of the situation was not lost on him, but he had to know more!

Silencing his compatriot with a violent gesture, he continued towards the lab, towards the answers to his questions.

Enos was both furious and filled with apprehension. How could Nebula simply ignore him? Didn't he see that ominous tint in the light as they approached the lab? Why didn't the other agent feel the air growing colder, becoming ice crystals that grated across his exposed skin? Barely suppressing a violent shiver, Enos trailed behind his leader, attempting to ignore the malevolent aura that grew stronger with every step.

Only the most loyal of disciples will follow their master into damnation.

**Enos raised his eyebrows. "So we've finally managed to break their radio code? It sure as hell took long enough." He reached down, grabbing several stones, wincing slightly as their sharp, strangely cool edges scratched his fingers.**

**Clasping his hands behind his back, the Commander took a deep breath of the salty air. "Not quite. Our smuggling cell here has only managed to decode some of it, and they've provided us with the full extent of what's been successfully deciphered," he explained.**

After several more minutes of practically walking right by the security personnel, along with innumerable turns and hallways, they arrived at the hallway marked as the Cloning Wing. Farther ahead, they could see a single, open door. The passage leading to the lab had scarcely enough light to see by, and was completely devoid of security. There weren't even cameras! Strangely, Enos kept anxiously looking over his shoulder every few seconds, as though he was worried that the bumbling guards would suddenly walk around the corner and seize them.

Enos could hear something, noises echoing at the edge of his hearing. It sounded like someone was talking, muffled and distant, but there nonetheless. What was it?

He turned his head, trying to find the source of the whispers. Behind him? No, not that way…

He shivered. _So cold…_

The sounds were strengthening, growing slightly with each step he took. Nebula didn't seem to hear them, just like he didn't feel the frigid air. He was strong.

Suddenly, he knew. There, right there; the whispers were coming from behind that wall. Quietly slipping away from his place behind Nebula, Enos approached the wall.

Words, there were words now, all questions and answers and insidious whispers scraping, scratching against his mind. It wanted to know things, everything! It was focused on them, the ones outside, but he could still hear it. It demanded answers, reasons!

But he couldn't respond; it would hear him and smell him and know he was there! To answer would be to betray his one friend, to scream out their existence to any that would listen! But, Arceus, it'd make the itching stop, make it stop!

"Enos!" It hissed and grabbed his shoulder. Its anger was building, pulsing and growing and threatening to overwhelm him. It wanted answers!

IT KNOWS I'M HERE IT KNOWS IT KNOWS!

Pain erupted from his cheek; a burning sting that tore him away from its hold. Nebula had both hands on his shoulders, his eye annoyed and curious. The senior agent had slapped him. "Enos, pull yourself together! We'll leave in a minute, just as soon as we investi-"

An explosion knocked their feet from underneath them, sending both agents crashing to the floor. Smoke and dust flooded the corridor as alarms began to wail. Chunks of ceiling fell, shattering all around them, splinters shredding their stealth suits.

It was free.

It was furious.

**Enos threw one of the stones, sending it whistling through the air to fall in a long arc to the sand far below. He was about to throw another when his commander spoke.**

**"Enos, you can opt out of this one, if you'd prefer. I'd understand if you wanted to do so, and I wouldn't hold it against you. I was there, too." He placed an almost comforting hand on the scout's shoulder.**

They were surrounded by smoke, smothered in waves of choking dust and ashes. Coughing, Nebula staggered to his feet, clutching his bloody side, which had been badly cut up by falling debris. Grasping Enos by the arm, he dragged the younger man up from the floor, giving him a swift once-over.

The younger man's condition was little better than his own; multiple lacerations across Enos' back were oozing blood. They were both coated with dust, and their cuts would probably become infected… But that could be dealt with later. At the moment, there were far more pressing matters to attend to, such as getting out alive.

Another explosion tore through the Cloning Wing, sending both men staggering. A fresh wave of choking dust blew down the corridor. Nebula could hear shouts and the pounding drums of heavy footsteps echoing through the hallways. The security detail was on its way.

"Move!" was the first word out of Nebula's mouth when he managed to catch his breath, a momentary lull before a fresh wave of wheezing tore into his chest.

"Get to an exit!" He shoved Enos forward, the dazed agent stumbling in the blinding ash. Reaching out, Enos frantically groped for the wall, his eyes clogged by dust.

IT KNOWS I'M HERE! IT CAN SEE ME! I CAN'T SEE IT, WHERE IS IT?

A powerful hand clenched down on his shoulder, guiding him. "Nebula, I can't see, there's dust in my eyes!"

Enos heard the other agent curse, then, "Here's my canteen; hold still dammit!"

Cool water splashed against his face, clearing his eyes. Wiping his wet face on the dusty fabric of his sleeve, he looked around, searching for It, silently praying that It wouldn't approach them, that it had gone away….

THERE.

A slight blue glow pierced the dusty atmosphere, outlining a towering figure, two piercing eyes glaring at them. Furious.

It was at that moment that the crack team and guards arrived.

Giratina have mercy on their souls.

The security group dashed around the corner leading to the Cloning Wing, stopping short when they saw the luminous eyes shift in their direction. Lining up, the men in front crouched as the rank behind aimed over their heads. None of them spoke. Behind, the sentries milled about in confusion, their lack of training easy to see in the eager and fearful expressions. Some even seemed to be apathetic of the chaos. After a few seconds, they assembled a formation roughly similar to the group in front of them; however, unlike the group in front, theirs was rife with whispers, clatters, and the sound of one man cursing as his fellow stepped on his foot.

The contrast between the two groups was startling, albeit predictable. One team was highly trained and proven competent by trial. The other… no more need be said.

Now that they had stilled, the crack team seemed disciplined enough, their rifles (outfitted with shock rounds, evidenced by the crackling energy glowing within their magazines) shouldered, all aimed toward the figure in the smoke. Their uniforms, black with a crimson 'R' on their chests and shoulders, blurred together in the gloom, becoming a indistinct line of figures holding electric hellfire in their toughened hands.

Nebula almost admired the precision in their movements, the restraint with which they held their silence. The Rockets, while terrible at detecting intruders, were indeed the disciplined force he had heard them to be.

Then he stopped and silently cursed. With the security force blocking the hall like that, he and Enos were trapped between the unknown monster behind them, and their enemies before them.

The beast's glowing, glaring eyes narrowed. It raised its right arm, the pulsing black sphere of a Shadow Ball materializing just beyond its open palm. Cobalt and amethyst arcs of ghostly energy zigzagged all across its surface.

"Open fire!"

The call rang out from a tall guard standing at the front of the line, a pistol leveled at the creature before them. A patch on the man's shoulder revealed him to be the commanding officer of the entire security force.

"Get down!" Nebula hissed to Enos, tackling the younger man to the floor.

Following the order given, the troops braced themselves for recoil, then opened up. Shock rounds burst from the muzzles of their rifles, the shrieking volley trailing electric blue afterimages. Fire lanced from the guns in foot long flashes, flares of light tearing into the dim, smoky air above the two agents.

All for naught.

The faint outline of a purple sphere rose around the creature, small arcs of psychic energy zipping across its surface. The electrified bullets slammed against the shield, which crackled and hissed as they were vaporized, the arcs of psychic power intensifying. The monster simply stood behind its barrier, the Shadow Ball growing in size and power.

Guns clicked and clacked as the grunts ejected spent magazines, swiftly reaching with practiced precision into pouches and munitions bags to reload. They were slamming full clips home when the empty magazines clattered against the floor, and the beast retaliated.

Dropping its barrier, the creature… no… the Pokémon released the Shadow Ball, launching it at the front ranks of the Rocket security team.

The leading officer barely had time to bark out "Scatter! Spread out, break-" with a voice full to the brim with urgency, concern, and rigidly controlled fury. Then the orb of ephemeral energy impacted, and his words vanished in a surging tide.

A wave of concussive force blasted through the hall when it hit, sending even more dust into the air as a section of ceiling collapsed. Screams and shouts of agony filled the air, the commanding officer's orders to regroup and resume fire drowned out by cries of pain.

The strange Pokémon was still for a brief moment, and then it raised its hand slowly to its eyes. The action was almost as though the beast was examining the hand that had invoked such destruction upon its enemies. As though it did not understand…

Nebula knew that this was the best chance they had to get away, and without a thought toward the warm fluid that splashed against his face, he leapt to his feet. The senior Galactic operative reached down, gritting his teeth in pain as he dragged a shocked Enos into a standing position.

"Now, while they're down! Move!" he shouted into the younger man's ear. Enos stared blankly back him, his eyes wide with pupils dilated. He was in shock.

"Arceus damn it!"

Nebula's normally tight rein on his tongue slipped, letting loose a curse. Grunting, he latched onto Enos' collar and dragged him into a panicked, unbalanced sprint.

The pair raced down the hall, stumbling and slipping on the strangely slick floor. Enos tried in vain to avert his eyes from the carnage at their booted feet, but it was as though they weren't under his control. He looked, and did not understand.

Blood was splattered along the walls and tiled floor, running in rivulets to larger pools while bodies were strewn along the hall, limp and broken like ragdolls. Most were still, but a few were beginning to stir, slowly climbing to their feet and checking on their weapons and comrades. Several, including the leading officer, had resumed firing at the beast, to little effect. Some had released their Pokémon, which were trying to help the wounded get to safety. However, the majority of the men that weren't dead staggered like drunks; their mouths wide open as though they were screaming.

Enos couldn't hear them screaming. It was like he was underwater; every noise was quiet and muffled, every footstep felt slow and light. The gunshots and roars of Pokémon were little more than taps and groans against his shocked ears. The wailing alarms were just a buzz at the back of his mind. Those men… He couldn't hear them… Why…why weren't they…?

_Why weren't they screaming?_

In a rush, everything around him slammed against his ears, clarity sliding like a blade across his mind. Loud, it was all so loud! He shook his head to clear away the remnants of the mental fog, and then began to run of his own accord.

Staccato bursts of rifle-fire could be heard down the hallway behind them, interrupted by more screams and the terrifying roars of what must have been an onix. Another explosion ripped through the facility, and the roars ceased. All that remained was the shrieking alarms, the occasional echoing weapon's discharge, and the anxious pounding of the two agents' hearts, their booted feet against the floor as they turned a corner.

Enos picked up his pace, shouting to his friend, "Nebula, I'm alright! Let's get the hell out of here!"

Glancing over his shoulder at his battered accomplice, Nebula nodded and let go of the teen's collar. "Let's try to get to the roof. I'll radio the chopper to get here ASAP, and they can pick us up there."

Enos nodded in reply, and then shouted in alarm as the pair turned another corner, streaking past a group of startled Team Rocket grunts in the process. Looking over his shoulder, the agent watched as, after a moment of indecision, the group split up; half headed towards the Cloning Wing while the remaining five broke off to chase after the two Galactics.

"Stop them! They must've started all this!"

Enos groaned inwardly as flashes of light came from behind them, followed by the howling and barking of growlithe. They just had to have dogs! Enos absolutely hated dogs.

"Nebula…?"

Panting slightly, Nebula spoke over his shoulder at the younger operative as they turned another corner, "I hear them! Enos, I can see a stairwell at the end of this hallway. When we get there, use your persian-"

"How many times do I have to tell you? His name is Conrad!" Enos interrupted.

Gritting his teeth, the other agent continued, "Use Conrad to take care of those growlithe. I'll contact the chopper while I move on to the roof. When you're done with them, follow me!"

"Okay," Enos answered. Slowing somewhat, he unclipped one of the three Poké Balls at his belt; it had a small, gray claw with a pair of sun-like symbols on either side inscribed just above the release button.

"They don't stand a chance," he murmured to the red and white sphere in his hand, even as the howls grew closer.

Reaching the end of the hall, Nebula crashed against the door to the stairway, throwing it open so forcefully that one of the hinges snapped, leaving it hanging haphazardly in its frame. Cursing at the pain searing through his shoulder and lacerated arm, he tore the radio from a pouch on his chest.

"Abra 214, this is Murkrow 33. Mission Cameo successful, but things are FUBAR, I repeat, mission zone is FUBAR. We need immediate pickup!"

Holding the radio to his mouth and detailing their situation and coordinates hurriedly, the older operative darted up the stairs two at a time, swiftly leaving Enos' view.

"Let's do this! Conrad, go!"

The instant Enos got to the stairwell door, he closed his eyes tightly, tossing the Poké Ball at the dogs. The ball snapped open, releasing his persian in a flare of blinding light. Whimpers and growls split the air as the flash seals he'd attached to Conrad's ball caught his opponents off-guard with the bright light.

A sleek feline shape materialized from the radiant glow, arcs of excess electricity from the Poké Ball's discharge sizzling as they were drawn to the large fluorescent hallway lights, which flickered and blew out from the influx of power. Steel-hard muscles rippled underneath a coat of smooth, creamy fur; lithe contours exuding an aura of prowess and confidence, youthful strength and tempered restraint. The large cat's tail wove patterns in the air, twisting and curling like a snake seeking prey. Emerald eyes flashed, contrasting against the ruby embedded in his forehead.

Conrad had been released in the thick of the growlithe pack, and he immediately pounced on one of the pursuing canines, biting down lightly on its throat with inch-long fangs. The growlithe's hot blood pulsed into his mouth, the copper and salt taste tickling his bloodlust. The wound wasn't likely to kill the fire-type dog, but it would keep it out of the rest of the battle. Lashing out with a hind leg, the persian slashed another growlithe's side, his sharp claws scoring deep, bloody gashes down its side. Another foe that wasn't likely to fight for long.

However, the growlithe were rapidly recovering from their temporary blindness, and he knew that he was severely outnumbered. Yowling, the massive feline concentrated, causing the scarlet gem on his forehead to blaze brightly in a powerful Flash.

The Classy Cat Pokémon smirked. That should keep them distracted for a bit longer-

_Wrong._

Conrad screeched as a wave of agony tore into his right hind leg, the acrid stench of burnt fur making him wrinkle his sensitive nose. Twisting around to get a look at his attacker, he found a growlithe biting down relentlessly with a Fire Fang. Hissing, Conrad smashed the dog with an Iron Tail. He regretted the feeling of bones shattering against it, but this was a battle. Pokémon died often enough, and that growlithe ought to consider itself lucky...

"Conrad, get out of there! Come here," his trainer yelled, concern etched across his young features. Streaks of red and brown stained his uniform, patches of skin visible through holes in the synthetic fabric… why…?

Letting loose one last Flash from his gem, the big cat leapt away from the pack of growlithe, landing painfully next to Enos. He stood on all fours for a moment before his injured hind leg crumpled beneath him, leaving the persian in a sitting position. That Fire Fang must've done more damage than he'd thought…

Enos immediately crouched next to the large feline, spraying a Super Potion on his scorched and bleeding leg. The heavy metallic scent of human blood assaulted Conrad's nostrils as his trainer came closer. Glancing at the pack of growlithe, the Galactic agent smiled, saying, "You've done great so far, now finish with a Power Gem!"

Rumbling a purr at his master's praise even as he felt a pang of concern for the young man, Conrad closed his eyes. Focusing on his gem, he felt within himself for the familiar well of power locked in the crimson stone. Finding it, the persian siphoned it out into a sphere, several spheres. Opening his eyes, his green eyes, Conrad saw eight orbs of red energy floating before him, each the size of the gem on his forehead.

He grinned at the terrified expressions on the growlithe's muzzles. They knew what those balls of energy were, and they knew just how much it was going to hurt.

Conrad winked at them cheekily.

_"You lose," he purred. _

The Power Gems darted toward the growlithe, each following a different target as they scrabbled on the tile floor in a vain attempt to escape the super-effective spheres of energy, much to Conrad's grim amusement. Dust and shards of tile rained down as the Power Gems exploded against their targets, sending them into blissful unconsciousness.

"You did awesome, Conrad!" Enos scratched the immense feline behind the ears, eliciting another deep purr from the persian.

Pocketing the spent Super Potion, he said, "Come on, Nebula is waiting for us on the roof." Enos got to his feet, Conrad following suit.

"Stop right there!"

Turning the corner, the five grunts had finally caught up to their quarry, and with the growlithe no longer in their line of sight, they had unholstered their guns.

One of the grunts stepped forward, his pistol leveled at the disheveled Enos. Retrieving a radio from his belt, the Rocket member sneered, "You're one of the ones that caused this mess? Looks like you got caught in your own bang, huh?"

The muffled thump of another explosion rumbled through the building.

"Guys, cover this little creep while I see what's up with the other squads."

The other four grunts nodded in agreement as their "leader" (he was the same rank as they were) walked a ways back down the hall, a crackle of static rising from his radio. Turning back to Enos and Conrad, they kept a close watch, their guns twitching at every small movement.

A frigid breeze whispered down the corridor, sliding along the walls like water flooding the bowels of a titanic ship. Enos shivered slightly as mental frost grated against his skull, scraping its way down his spinal column like arctic ice against a ship's underbelly.

Hell was not hot, the Devil not a beast of fire and flame.

His guards either didn't notice, or didn't care. One of them kicked him in the stomach, knocking his breath away. Pain lanced up from his belly as one of his cuts was torn wider. His lost breath misted in front of his eyes, a fog of war clouding judgments.

"Don't move. You wouldn't want us to think you were trying to escape, would you?" the grunt asked menacingly as he brandished a gleaming black pistol. Enos stared at him blankly in response.

Why couldn't they feel it? Were they like Nebula, strong and unyielding?

…or were they merely blind?

Enos grimaced in pain, gasping to get his breath back. The grunt pulled back his leg for another kick before one of the others placed a warning hand on his shoulder, as if to say that damaged goods weren't worth selling. Glaring, the grunt shrugged off the other man's hand. After a brief staring match between the two, however, he backed down.

The captured Galactic agent kept as still as was humanly possible, keeping a steady and calming hand on Conrad's creamy fur. He could feel the persian tensing, ready to pounce; the feline's long claws slowly extended from the sheaths in his paws. Not speaking, Enos simply shook his head when the Classy Cat Pokémon glanced up at him for instruction. Conrad looked away, downcast.

In the silence, another explosion rocked the base, close enough to send a couple of the grunts staggering. A fresh wave alarms and klaxons started up, filling the corridor with white noise.

Enos and Conrad nearly took the distraction as their chance to escape, but before they'd done more than tense, there was a scream.

At the opposite end of the hall, an object barely identifiable as a body slammed into the wall, the snap of bone audible even over the wailing alarms.

It was back.

The grunt who had been conversing on the radio froze, and then quickly returned the device to his belt, dropping into a crouch with his pistol aimed at the end of the hallway. Turning back to his comrades, he waved three of them over with a hand. Raising their own weapons, the trio moved down the hall toward their companion, leaving Enos and Conrad guarded by a lone grunt.

Pointing at Conrad with one hand, the remaining member of Team Rocket silently indicated that he wanted the persian in its Poké Ball, now.

Keeping his hands in sight, and moving slowly, Enos retrieved Conrad's Poké Ball from his belt. Crouching, he placed a calming hand on the persian's muzzle to silence the cat's protesting growls. He was about to return the persian to his ball when the feline jerked away, letting out a plaintive mew as-

Gunshots echoed down the hallway along with men screaming, shouting. Who was screaming? Why was it getting clos—?

Enos turned his head.

-a screaming Rocket member crashed against the grunt guarding them with bone-shattering force, smashing him into the wall with a sickening crack. The bodies slumped to the floor, and the screaming, the shouting, the gunshots all stopped.

Silence. Cold, calculating silence.

Enos didn't look at the grunts on the floor next to him. He didn't need to in order to know that they were dead. He just knew.

He instead gazed down the corridor, the white canvas walls stained with apples and roses. There was a cloud of mist at the end of the hallway; it slowly thinned, dropping to the floor to creep along the chessboard tiles, creep like the tendril roots of nightshade. A dark silhouette materialized from the dissipating fog, and it was not looking at its handiwork.

It was staring straight at him, through him, into him, and all he could do was look back and hear a single, jarring thought. It was beautiful.

_Life is wonderful._

Enos shivered.

Standing, Conrad glared at the Pokémon across the way. It was bipedal, and psychic most likely, judging from the blue glow enveloping it. Powerful, too, seeing as it had must have been the cause of the rumbling explosions that had been reverberating through the facility.

It raised a paw… no… a _hand_. A trio of glowing black orbs grew into existence scant inches before its bulbous fingertips, ectoplasmic lightning crackling and arcing between them like Tesla coils.

The persian sprang to his feet and his muzzle twisted into a snarling hiss, the fur all along his back standing on end. His teeth were bared and gleaming, his eyes narrowed to vehement slits. The Pokémon was a threat to Enos, to his friend. Enos was the only human he felt capable of respecting, of understanding him, and he would be _damned_before he let some twisted psychic lab rat do anything to harm him.

Conrad shot a swift glance at his trainer, at his shredded uniform and oozing cuts, his wide eyes and labored breathing.

Well, anything to _further_harm him, that is…

A light chuckle seeped through the air. It was laughing at them.

_Fools._

Then its hand flicked, and the three spheres lanced forth, splitting the distance from the strange Pokémon to Enos and Conrad in half in the span of a mere fraction of an instant.

Enos' eyes widened, and Conrad made a desperate leap, catching two of the ethereal Shadow Balls in the chest before the deadly energy could impact against his friend. Purple and blue surged harmlessly across the heavy fur of his chest, the energy dissipating as it fought a futile battle with his normal-type resilience.

"Enos, why are you taking so long? The chopper is on its way and- Shit!" Nebula dived to the floor as the third Shadow Ball rocketed into the wall where his head had been moments before. Cursing in pain as he struggled to his feet, he snagged Enos' shoulder in an iron grip before dragging the younger man into the stairwell.

"The helicopter is here, move!"

Conrad cast a backwards glance as he bounded into the stairwell after the two agents, catching a glimpse of another Shadow Ball streaking toward him as he used the wall as a springboard to push off and reach the top of the first landing with a single leap.

The Shadow Ball ripped the door from its remaining hinge, metal shards perforating the wall behind it.

Meanwhile, Enos and Nebula had reached the roof, bursting through the door with the persian hot on their heels. The storm from earlier in the day must have run its course, for blessed sunlight blinded them as the reached the outside. Enos squinted, his eyes having become accustomed to the dull glow of fluorescent lights and smoky gloom. Blasts rumbled through the facility below them, beams of light piercing through large cracks in the crumbling roof as smoke bellowed and roiled from the explosions.

Salvation.

The stealth helicopter was hovering a few feet away, its pilot not daring to rest the machine's full weight on the unstable rooftop landing pad as even more cracks split the its concrete surface. Through the shaded cockpit window, they could see the pilot beckoning at them wildly. His expression was familiar and understandable: panic.

"Go!" Nebula shoved Enos into the open bay doors, then followed suit, slamming his fist against the bulkhead to the cockpit and shouting for the pilot to fly just as Conrad slipped in.

The chopper lurched upwards, sliding into the smoke and dust-choked skies as another explosion tore through the building below, an entire wall blowing out underneath them. Shards of molten steel and glass left corkscrew trails of smokes as they were sent flying by the blast, plinking and clattering against the sleek copter's underbelly.

Latching himself into one of the helicopter's seat harnesses, Nebula snatched a headset from the ceiling rack and shouted directions to the pilot.

"Take us out, and hug the smoke for as long as safely possible, if you can. It ought to screen us from being seen, which is the last thing we could possibly want."

"U-understood," stammered the clearly shaken pilot, the helicopter accelerating as it dipped into the ruinous clouds billowing up from the New Island research building.

Nodding to himself, Nebula reached up and slipped the headset down around his neck, closing his eye. It burned as some of the smoke outside seeped in through the air filtering system. He sighed, and leaned his head back against the padded headrest.

Enos was resting in one of the bay's seats, Conrad's head in his lap as the young man stared blankly into the roiling clouds passing by the helicopter's bay windows. He didn't speak a word, even as a tear rolled down his face, mixing with the dried blood and encrusted grime. The Classy Cat below him nuzzled his still hands, letting out an incongruously plaintive mew. Enos began to scratch his Pokémon behind the ears, absentminded and not truly paying attention to the large feline's purrs and comforting licks to his scraped hands.

"Enos."

The young Orre native glanced at Nebula, his attention briefly caught by the senior agent, but then returned his dull stare to the windows.

"Enos, look at me," Nebula's voice was firm, providing a foundation which gave the listless teenager a point of order to rebuild his confused and scattered thoughts upon.

Enos gazed at Nebula, and this time his eyes didn't wander away.

"How did you know that… _thing _was there? You knew, didn't you?" Nebula's eye was running along his companion's face questioningly, as though seeking answers in the set of his jaw and his blue eyes… his eyes were…

Nebula's own eye widened. Enos' eyes, the startlingly blue irises, were ringed by a faint purple glow. Which meant… Enos was a psychic, if a weak and latent one, but a psychic nonetheless. The fading light ringing his irises proved that.

Enos looked away, and wouldn't listen to Nebula for the remainder of the flight back to the ship waiting to take them back to their… no, _Nebula's_homeland, Sinnoh.

Mewtwo had left his mark.

**Enos paused, his arm raised to launch a second stone, as his commander spoke. Averting his gaze, staring down into the water of the bay far below, he lowered his arm, and the rock dropped from his hand. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and gritted his teeth.**

**Memories. Enos despised his memories of home, of Orre, of the gangs and the wasteland. But it was the memory of those white hallways, of those three words, that he hated most. They scared him.**

**Life is wonderful. A true statement, and one he tried to honor, but Arceus, it terrified him.**

**He opened his eyes, running them along his arms and legs and torso, where underneath his modified uniform lay scars from that day, and memories.**

**Enos turned and stared directly into Nebula's eye, his face grim and hardened.**

**"I'm not opting out. I'm coming with you on this one, just like I did back then, like I always have," he said. His blue eyes held an ice in them, and for a split second, purple flickered around his irises. His eyes brooked no argument with his words.**

**In return, Commander Nebula nodded slowly.**

**High on a cliff, a pair of old friends stood, each recalling the terror and pain and shock of a single day, of single moments in their lives. One pulled back his arm, and a stone streaked through the air in a****long, curving fall to the ground below.**

**The one who had thrown the rock lowered his arm and grinned. "Besides, if I chicken out on this, where am I gonna get that shower?"**

**Life is wonderful.**

Author's Note: Goodness, this took forever to get up. Life has been busy, and will likely stay that way, so... slow updates. Much thanks to Stolloss, FirebirdXoX, Fear the Pika, and shinymonkey8 for beta-reading this chapter~


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